


Involuntary Response

by makeit_takeit



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Canon Era, M/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-12
Updated: 2017-10-12
Packaged: 2019-01-16 13:28:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12343605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makeit_takeit/pseuds/makeit_takeit
Summary: Brad can't remember how long it's been.





	Involuntary Response

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to LJ on 5/4/2009.

It’s quiet, both inside camp and out on the horizon. Too quiet, and Nate is thinking that’s probably why he can’t sleep. That, or a million other reasons, but he tries to stick to the one that’s easiest – the stillness and the quiet around him. He walks toward the perimeter, thinking maybe he’ll take a piss, then he sees the blonde head, just visible over the top of the Humvee.  
  
Brad is staring out into the silent darkness, leaned back against his vehicle. He doesn’t make a move when Nate approaches, just keeps staring.  
  
_Brad._  
  
Nothing.  
  
_You okay?_  
  
Still nothing. Nate leans back against the humvee next to him, arms close but not quite touching, and that’s how things always are in the Corps. Close but not quite.  
  
Nate is silent too, staring in the same direction as Brad, wondering what those hawk eyes are seeing that his can’t.  
  
_Did you know, Sir, that there are babies in orphanages - China, Eastern Europe, shithole countries, and they just lay in a bed all day, and no one holds them, nothing. They get sick from it. They can_ die _, from that. From lack of contact with another human being._  
  
Nate’s not sure where he’s going with this, so he tries,  
  
_Weren’t you adopted, Brad?_  
  
_Sir._  
  
_Were you in an orphanage for a time?_  
  
_No, Sir. My parents took me straight home from the hospital. If I know my mother, she probably never let me cry without picking me up and holding me._  
  
Nate just nods.  
  
More silence, more staring out at the black depths in front of them, until,  
  
_I can’t remember how long it’s been._  
  
No “Sir” this time, Nate notices.  
  
_What, that we’ve been here?_  
  
_No. Since I had human contact._  
  
Nate snorts a little.  
  
_You’re packed like sardines in a Humvee with four other men all day every day, and you don’t get enough human contact? This is what you're telling me, Brad?_  
  
_Not that kind of contact, Sir. I mean a real touch; skin on skin._  
  
Oh, so that’s it.  
  
_I’m sure you can remedy that once we get to Baghdad. World’s oldest profession started right here, ya know. Cradle of Civilization._  
  
Nate quirks a smile, tries for a joke, but Brad’s not biting. He blinks, just gives a quick shake of his head.  
  
_It’s not about sexual gratification. Most men would argue that sex is a basic need, like food, water, shelter. But it’s not really, is it._  
  
No question in his question, and his eyes when they land on Nate feel like fire.  
  
_It’s touch, that’s the need. Sexual arousal is just an involuntary biological response to sensory stimulus. It's the touch we really crave. Without it, we’re._  
  
A pause, then,  
  
_Less human. Less strong. Less alive._  
  
Nate doesn’t have a response, not to something like that, so he just claps his hand down on Brad’s shoulder. A show of solidarity, his best effort to be comforting, to maintain combat effectiveness in an important - the _most_ important - part of his team; that's all it is. And he can’t say if it was on purpose or not, the fact that his hand lands more on Brad’s neck than his shoulder, his thumb against the back of Brad’s neck, first two fingers curling loosely along under his jawline. All he knows is that Brad makes a low noise in the back of his throat and his eyes close slowly, then head leans to the side, like he’s stretching his neck. Leans into that touch, into Nate’s hand.  
  
Skin on skin.  
  
Nate’s thumb moves, stroking slowly at the back of Brad’s neck, watching those eyes, but they don’t open. So the hand moves, up a little more, so all 4 fingers rest against the hot, sandy skin of Brad's neck, and knead a little – pressure, then release.  
  
Brad’s eyes stay closed, still leaned into that touch. A caress, Nate might call it, if Brad were a woman, but Brad is anything – _anything_ \- but that.  
  
Nate turns, just enough. Leans his hip against the Humvee instead of his ass, and reaches with his free hand up to Brad’s arm, slides his palm along and under the sleeve of Brad’s tshirt and wraps his fingers around the heavy bulk of the bicep underneath. Watches as Brad sighs, eyes still closed, and both of Nate’s thumbs are tracing back and forth, one against Brad’s neck, one against his arm, slow and steady. Soothing, Nate hopes, and he’s not even aware of the way he’s holding his breath as he watches Brad exhale slowly, then swallow, Adams apple bobbing. Then again. And again, and Nate feels hypnotized.  
  
Finally Nate lets out his breath with a whoosh; enough to make Brad open his eyes, cut his glance sideways at Nate.  
  
_I need you strong, Brad. I need you-._ Alive _._  
  
Nate’s voice is barely a whisper as he leans, angling his body further toward Brad, and his hand slides down Brad's arm and back up, feels the hot sand rolling between his skin and Brad's. Close, but not quite, and Nate reminds himself to exhale again, and gives a little nod.  
  
Brad nods back, eyes closing slowly then opening again, for good. Looks at Nate with a clear gaze, sharper, more critical, almost predatory. The Brad that Nate’s used to.  
  
Then he cracks a slow smile, one side of his moth angled up.  
  
_Biological response to touch, eh Sir?_  
  
His gaze drops downward, and Nate’s follows, a tick slow. Sees their matching hard-ons, tenting out their cammies, inches apart. Sucks in his breath, because he hadn’t even noticed, not consciously at least, and feels his ears start to burn.  
  
_Brad -._  
  
He has to force his voice to be steady, force his eyes up to meet Brad’s, force himself to look unaffected, and he thinks he might have done it, but then Brad’s impossible to read unless he wants to be read, and all Brad does is arch an eyebrow at Nate, slap him on the arm,  
  
_Completely involuntary, Sir._  
  
His face blank, inscrutable, he turns on his heel and strides away  
  
Nate moves a few feet out into the darkness, shadows hiding the rush of blood coloring his face as he pisses into the sand, willfully ignoring the way his dick is straining against his hand, and then makes his way back across camp. He still can’t sleep, still tells himself it’s the quiet, the stillness, anything but the thing he knows it really is.


End file.
